The Five Times Sandy Met Death
by Zorua Illusion
Summary: And the one time he didn't. People die in their sleep all the time. Wouldn't it make sense for the giver of dreams to meet the heralder of death?


There would always be children that couldn't be saved. Sandy knew this, being the oldest of the Guardians- older than even Manny. It didn't make it hurt any less, but it was a fact that needed acknowledged. So is it really any surprise for Sandy to meet Death semi-often? After all, many die in their sleep, and everyone dreams.

These are five times Sandy met Death, and the one time he didn't.

_**First meeting: Time: ? B.C. Location: ?**_

People had not yet started to keep the dates again. It would, quite possibly, be eons before it started up again. Sanderson moved around, still unused to being stuck on a planet. Though it wasn't really… stuck. More like willingly grounded. So he went around, giving dreams.

It was halfway through the night in the New World (which was somewhere around modern day Europe) when Sanderson saw something peculiar.

A hooded figure crouched next to a sleeping child, who was ill with fever. An ebony staff sat next to them, and a feeling of drowsiness was emitted from the figure. The hooded cloak was pitch black (pardon the pun) with intricate silver designs stitched on the back and edges of the cloak.

Just then, the child stopped breathing, their last breath escaping in the form of a grey mist, which was collected by the figure.

Sanderson realized he was looking at Death, or at least one of the heralds. He entered, deciding to at least meet them.

He entered silently, but the figure turned to face him anyway. Sanderson couldn't see any facial features, all being obscured by the shadow of the hood. Sanderson nodded at him, point at the figure, then his head and nodding.

_I understand._

The figure nodded, then left, leaving the body but having the grey mist inside a vial.

Sanderson tried to follow them to wave them off, but they jumped out the window and disappeared without a trace.

Sanderson knew that this wouldn't be the last time they met.

_**Second Meeting: Time: 432 BC Location: Rome**_

The next time they met was an undeterminable amount of time later, around the time of the Roman Empire. The figure was different this time, looking similar to the natives, only with robes of the darkest black with the same intricate silver stitching as the old cloak. The figure was male, by the looks of it, and also had golden jewelry. This time, they were next to a Roman woman who had just given birth and was looking a little too pale after the event.

Sandy, as he went by now, had felt the tug of sleepiness from the woman and had come to give her a good dream.

Seeing the figure, he knew it would be her last.

He made it as sweet as possible- a vision of her family, new son included, becoming favored by the gods, her husband and son undefeatable in battle, and she herself running the household perfectly.

The woman smiled as she breathed out, this time the mist being pinkish in color. Another vial caught the essence.

Another glance between the two mortals, and the smallest hint of a smile from the one in black.

_Thank you._

And they were gone without a trace, this time through a doorway.

_**Third Meeting: Time: 1000 AD Location: Sandy's Island**_

The Dark Ages had come. Sandy was the only immortal somewhat strong enough to keep the Fearlings tamed. With the Dark Ages had come a major loss of power, belief fading to nearly nothing and fear increasing. Sandy did the best he could with what he had, sending out dreams to anyone they would reach, and keeping careful watch to make sure they didn't become nightmares. Pitch Black had come back and was not helping, making more and more obstacles for Sandy to overcome.

But now Sandy was tired. He was overworked, and now, he just needed sleep. So he went back to isle and fell asleep.

The figure came out, this time with a long beaked mask on, shielding the face and another hooded cloak concealing their body. The intricate designs were still there, but much more subdued, and hard to find if you weren't looking for them.

The figure spoke for the first time, a voice quieter than a whisper, louder than thunder.

"No… not you… not now." It was a prayer, a mantra, a dictation of truth.

And the figure left, silently, ignoring the tug it felt when a death was wrestled with and defeated.

_**Fourth Meeting: Time: 1500 AD Location: Italy**_

This lot still had a bit of the Dark Ages in them, but not a whole lot. Sure, there was a lot of fear, but nothing like 500 years prior.

Sandy was out, giving dreams, as was his job, many dreams in a few large buildings in a few large cities being denied, especially at a castle in Masyaf. Sandy shrugged and moved on.

He met the figure again, crouching over a hooded man with a large wound in his side, staining his white outfit red.

The strange thing was that they both looked exactly the same, only the figure had more red and silver accents and a completely different symbol lie on his vambraces.

The hooded man looked at the figure, grinned with bloody teeth, and looked down, falling into a deadly sleep.

Sandy bowed his head, sending another dream towards the man. This time, it was not refused.

A dream of peace, of equality without control, with six words running constantly in the background before the mind faded.

This essence was pure white. Another vial, another catch, another glance.

This one from the figure, questioning.

_Why?_

Sandy shrugged.

_Because. No one should go unhappy._

A nod, a glance over the shoulder, flipping over the ledge, and another flawless disappearance.

Sandy took off too, not bothering to try to find the figure.

They'd meet again.

_**Fifth Meeting: Time: 1712 AD Location: Burgess**_

This was harsh. This was borderline cruel, and pulled on all immortals' heartstrings.

Jackson Overland had just died, drowned, trying (and succeeding) to save his sister from the watery grave.

So Sandy traveled to Burgess when he could, giving the sleeping children the best dreams he possibly could. When he went to the Overland's house, he was startled.

Emma Overland (Jackson's mother) sat around, staring at nothing. The figure had changed again, this time looking exactly like Jackson, but this time talking, although it was in Jackson's voice.

"It's okay, mama, I'll be alright. The Lord has me now. Don't go, not yet. It's not your time. I need you to keep the people down there happy, alright? Make sure Poppy's alright. I need to make the people up here happy, mama. I'll see you when your time comes, but it's not yet. Not yet, too soon."

And the figure faded. Emma fell asleep. Sandy sent her and Poppy, Jack's sister, a dream.

He met the figure on the roof. This time, they had adapted a look similar to how Sandy had first seen them: a simple hooded cloak with elaborate silver designs stitched onto the back and edges of it. Only, this time, they had a scythe instead of a staff.

Sandy took a seat next to him, their legs hanging off the rooftop.

The figure flashed an empty vial in front of Sandy.

He looked at the figure, confused.

The vial was turned, just a bit. There, etched into the glass of the tube, was a name in intricate calligraphy.

_Jackson Overland._

At the end of the name was a crack in the otherwise flawless glass.

Sandy, although he did not understand Death's workings, knew what it meant.

_Jackson isn't dead… and can never be._

Sandy shook the figure's clammy hand before rushing off to find the new spirit.

Someone would have to explain things to him.

_**And the one time Sandy didn't meet Death.**_

_**Time: 2013 AD Location: Burgess**_

"_NO!"_ Jack shouted. Not Sandy! Not him! Take him instead, the world could live without winter, but it could never live without Sandy, not without dreams or silent golden figures.

Not Sandy!

Pitch laughed. "I would say sweet dreams… but there aren't any left."

And Sandy was gone, taken into the nightmare sand.

Jack charged. He had heard someone once say to never piss off winter. He could see why now: he felt powerful, more powerful than he had ever been. Rage and sorrow filled him, being released in the only way his body could understand:

_Get Pitch._

A torrent of concentrated blizzard froze the nightmare sand solid, exploding from the force instantly. And Pitch fell. As did Jack.

But before his eyes shut, he saw a familiar figure. Why this figure wasn't strange to him, he wouldn't remember until a crevice in Antarctica with nothing but a broken staff, a tube of teeth, Baby Tooth who couldn't fly, and his heart hurting for more reasons than one.

The figure was a classic Grim Reaper, black cloak, silver stitching shining in the moonlight, a scythe in hand. They were there for a second, shook their head, and left.

Jack's eyes closed.

Death would not take one of the few who understood.

Not today.

**A/N: The fourth meeting was a **_**huge**_** Assassin's Creed shout-out. I've never played the games, but I have watched through Revelations and AC3. I really like Revelations. I mean, Ezio's… what, 50? And he's still being an Assassin? And Altair? He's **_**92**_** when he kicks the bucket, all those years having been an assassin, kicking **_**ass**_** when he's 80. Old men kicking butt just makes me happy (I think I got this from RED). ANYWAY. Yeah, had an idea, but what to do with the idea escaped me for awhile. This uses parts of the books and rips some of the movie to shreds (like the Guardians coming around the Dark Ages. North wasn't born yet, Bunny was on planet but not a Guardian, and Sandy and Tooth had joined). So… ta-da! Sandy and Death throughout the years.**


End file.
